


We're All Wrong

by GayRainbowBridge, worstloki



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asexual Character, BAMF Loki (Marvel), BAMF Stephen Strange, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship is Magic, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki Gets a Hug (Marvel), M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pansexual Character, Post-Thor (2011), Rivalry, Sanctum Sanctorum (Marvel), Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Strangefrost, Strangers to Lovers, Suicide Attempt, because at least one of the authors is Evil, both cool in different ways, bros before hos and all, kind of?, oblivious idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29258709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayRainbowBridge/pseuds/GayRainbowBridge, https://archiveofourown.org/users/worstloki/pseuds/worstloki
Summary: Loki failed his attempt to destroy Jotunheim, he failed his attempt to kill himself, and he failed his attempt to gain Odin’s long-sought approval.He’s banished to Earth and (thanks to a bit of time meddling by the authors) finds himself knocking at the door to the Sanctum with an attitude that screams “I can do what I want!” which rivals Stephen's own arrogance.Cue mutual fondness and both sorcerers expanding on the definitions of what they want.(no, really, they ruin each other’s sexualities, quite literally.)OR: friends to lovers but ramp up the sexual tension and leave them stranded between both those points.
Relationships: Loki & Stephen Strange, Loki/Stephen Strange
Comments: 17
Kudos: 63





	1. Even Death Rejected Me

**Author's Note:**

> As this fic takes off from the end of Thor 1, be warned for mentions of suicide/self-harm through it. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

Loki sat near the edge of the bifrost, looking down at his hands in his lap, feeling dejected. He forced the tears back, feeling himself sink deeper and deeper into his trench of despair.

He wouldn’t bring himself to look at the wreckage of the observatory. Of what was left of it, at least. Nor would he look at the shattered Bifrost ledge behind him— Loki  _ wouldn’t _ shift his eyes to the black void around, the endless expanse of stars he had tried to sacrifice himself to moments ago; a reminder of another failure. 

Thor stood close by, looking at Odin who was staring disapprovingly at his adopted son. Loki wouldn't look up at either of them. He couldn't. Couldn't bear to see the disappointment in his fake Father's eyes.

He should have been better than this. Should have tried harder. But he wasn't. He couldn't do anything right. He never did the right thing. Nothing was ever good enough.

He couldn't even kill himself properly. He had been so close, too!

But no. 

Loki rarely got what he wanted, and never so easily either. He always had to fight tooth and nail for what he wanted. Had to do everything in his power to get it and work even harder to keep it.

But, clearly, he hadn't tried hard enough to be deserving of the mercy of death. Or perhaps he was just not  _ worthy _ enough for it. He was being forced to suffer this miserable existence. No easy way out. Not for him. A clever punishment.

Odin just  _ had _ to go and save his sorry ass from falling into the void, and now he would surely be punished far worse for what he'd done. (If there even was such a thing, Loki doubted it. He’d already failed. He had no purpose, no  _ reason _ to  _ keep _ around—)

Odin hadn't let even  _ Thor  _ get away with his disobedience. And, sure, Loki hadn’t been told  _ not  _ to do what he did. In fact, his actions would have, until his own attempt, been deemed approved of, but he knew he had no chance of evading punishment now. 

Because he was Loki, and he was always  _ wrong _ .

He was never  _ right _ . He was never  _ enough.  _ It was a fate he didn’t seem capable of avoiding after all these  _ years _ .

He’d always been  _ wrong _ . Even when acting from desperation or trying to do what he himself would never want to he’d been  _ wrong _ . He’d tried to assume he could be loved, to be approved of, to finally be seen as an  _ equal _ , but even hanging over an abyss all that’d happened was to prove how  _ wrong  _ he was. He’d thought he was Aesir, an Odinson, and he’d been  _ wrong _ ; he didn’t even know if this name was his. He’d thought his mother at the very least would care to comfort him at some point, but he’d been  _ wrong  _ for needing something so petty to begin with. And, sitting on the bridge, Loki can acknowledge that he was never going to be right. He would never,  _ ever _ be  _ right _ . He was  _ wrong _ . That's all he'd ever be. Wasn't that, at least, right?

He just wished he didn't feel so  _ numb _ . His insides felt both frozen and hollow; like there was nothing inside him and yet a heavy weight sat lodged in the pit of his stomach, something he recognised only as guilt. Cold, paralysing guilt which had burnt out as rage and sadness in the minutes before but only now settled on simply an unfeeling nothingness, leaving him raw and empty. 

Of course, he'd always felt this way. But never this…  _ intense _ . Not like this.

He hated it.

Odin was saying something, but he couldn't focus on the words. The only thing he could think of was the emptiness inside him; The senseless feeling spreading through his body made it almost difficult to breathe. Why? Why was it so hard to breathe? Why couldn't he breathe?!

_ No, no, don't cry. Don't cry, dammit! _

Loki squeezed his eyes shut tight, and then blinked rapidly, willing the tears back. His eyes stung with the effort it took. 

He could do this. He was fine. He was perfectly fine. Nothing has actually changed. His Father was still a dull King who just happened to hate his guts. He was stronger than his emotions.

But Loki couldn’t even believe his own lies. Not anymore. Not after days—  _ centuries— _ of striving for Odin’s approval, denying the fact that it would  _ never _ be enough, that  _ he _ would never be  _ enough— _

What was the point of telling himself all these lies if he couldn't even believe them himself? (Maybe if he could, then he could convince himself that he wasn't so broken.)

"Loki, listen to me when I talk!"

Loki had to fight back the urge to snap back at Odin, _ 'I'm trying to have a moment of self pity here!' _ but his voice wouldn't work. His usual sarcasm had left him, making him feel even more empty than ever.

What would be the point of arguing? It could and would only lead him to getting into even worse trouble than he was already in. No point digging himself even deeper into the hole he'd already dug and gotten stuck in.

“Loki Laufeyson,” Odin started, the first nail to his coffin and Loki feels his tears already slipping down his face, in trails of warmth which seem to contradict the growing icy winds around him as the Allfather continued the speech where this all began, where Loki had realised everything had started going wrong for real. “You have betrayed the sanctity of this realm, through your jealousy and selfishness you have doomed peaceful realms to the horrors of chaos and ruin and death,” —Odin didn’t lay a hand on him but Loki felt as the chest pieces of his armour started to peel away—“you are unworthy of your  _ name _ , you are unworthy of your  _ titles _ , you are unworthy of the loved ones who will no longer claim you.”

Loki’s head snapped up at those words and he heard himself plead otherwise—  _ 'No, no, no, please, I did this all for you, for my family, for the realms! I hadn’t meant for it to get to this, I hadn’t meant to take lives other than of the handful of  _ monsters,  _ than that which was of my own—'  _ But perhaps he had done so under his breath for it elicited no response from either member of the royal family. A family he knew, deep down, he wasn't a part of. Had never been a part of. Just an outcast. A piece of a puzzle that just didn't fit. Without purpose. Discarded as useless, worthless, no longer needed and could now be thrown away. Tossed away like it had never existed, forgotten. A stolen relic.

The central collar-piece detached; the last of his armour— as Odin continued, repeating the words that haunt Loki more than those which revealed to him the truth. 

Because Odin's cruelty aimed at himself had never been difficult to suppose, but at  _ Thor?  _ The _ golden child?  _ The _ perfect heir?  _ It just didn’t happen. 

A part of Loki revels in the fact that he’s gained the Allfather’s attention enough to warrant the same words that Thor received. 

The rest of him  _ loathes  _ that he feels that way.

“I now take from you your power, in the name of my Father, and his Father before, I, Odin Allfather, cast you out!”

And Loki just sat in a metaphorical puddle of self-hate at the edge of the splintering rainbow bridge, tear-tracks lining his face, watching Odin, gauging, hoping,  _ wishing _ for anything to show on his face that would elicit something other than a deep emptiness from him as he felt the dark energy pulling him through a fabricated wormhole.

But Loki rarely got what he wished.

He doesn't fight the pull of the wormhole, seeing no reason. He didn’t care where he ended up, didn't care anymore about what happened to him. He'd already lost everything. What more could happen to him to make things worse?

Loki prepares to perform for his audience of one. 

Because if he couldn't even tell himself a convincing lie then what was the point of his suffering if it did not even grant that.

* * *

He may or may not have let out an undignified yelp of shock as he was spit back out of the wormhole and fell face first into whatever lay below him, but that hardly brought him out of his thoughts. He felt as he collided with solid ground, groaning loudly as he lay on his back, staring up at the sky.

Mentally, he cursed his bad luck.

But he’d also seen the stony condescension in the King of Asgard’s face and come to conclude that it was not his place to grieve for what was lost, but try and move on and be grateful that it had passed. Or something similar. That would be the pragmatic response.

Loki took longer than he’d like to admit to pull himself together, and when he did, he finally got to his feet and resolved to leave everything in the past and start anew. This Bifrost site appeared to be the one towards the top of a mountain in modern-day Nepal. If he was not mistaken there should be a city lower-down. 

The icy air sent a chill up his spine, and he was in no way dressed warmly enough in only his loose under-armour, but Midgard seemed as good a place as any to spite his past by trying to do better. 

He had even heard rumours of the place having wizards now and oh boy wasn't that going to be fun.

* * *

Loki was just about frozen to the bone by the time he made it the whole way down the mountain. It was only halfway down that he realised just  _ how _ cold it truly was. He felt the cold before, but never like this.

He could only assume it was because of his mortal form. 

He had panicked only for a moment, worrying over his magic, but a small experimental spell assured that it was still intact and even managed to warm up his hands slightly (while almost setting his sleeve on fire; Fire spells were always tricky), which was a surprise because he firmly recalled Odin saying something about taking his powers…

Loki chuckled to himself. The old man’s magic restrictions were pathetic. He didn’t even notice they were there. The quality was so laughable that he'd even found it in himself to smile dryly as he made his way down the snowy mountain. He was still thankful though, for Odin's failed magic. His magic was a part of him. Without it, he wouldn't be himself.

But now he needed to focus, needed to get back on his feet and stand tall, needed to prove to all those who doubt his strength exactly how strong he was, not just physically, but mentally, emotionally.

He'd show Odin just what another one of his 'stolen relics' could do when out of his vault.

Once he had reached the town, he tried to get his bearings, thinking on what it was that he would need as a priority to his survival on this planet. Well, he could've most definitely have done with some warmth right then. But warmth required...

Shelter. He needed a place to stay. Somewhere to consider all the options for his future properly instead of a poor one made outside in the freezing cold, when he was half starving and dying of thirst.

But groveling at some random mortals doorstep seemed rather undignified. He was a god! Or... he _was_ a god. Of course, he could work for it. Get a job perhaps. But what profession would suit a man like him?

_Wizards,_ his brain reminded him.

He wasn't a wizard himself. He was a mage, which was completely different. But he could definitely offer the assistance in training mortals in magic. It would ensure him shelter in the least if his information was correct, and that was something he needed. Food and warm clothes wouldn't hurt either. Oh yes, that sounded very good after the crappy day he'd been having.

Now, where was it that these wizards lived again? 

There'd been one around this site for centuries, but h e didn't remember exactly where it was, and would either have to cast a detection spell over each building in the city or (less favourably) he’d have to… _ ask people.  _

He sighed, feeling irritable.

He didn't want to interact with people. But then, he hardly got what he wanted anyway. Like usual.

Except, this time, it wasn't really a choice being made for him, was it?


	2. How Dare Someone Knock At My Door

Stephen Strange had been in the middle of warding a very particular door in the sanctum which he did  _ not  _ want breached under  _ any circumstances _ when he heard a knock reverberate through the sanctum. 

That, of course, could only mean magical guests, and any and all magical guests allowed into the sanctum already had preordained entry, so, as it was, it had been completely unprecedented in his time here to hear a knock and it was, in his humble opinion, completely understandable that he’d been surprised to open the door and not be met with a herd of menacing demonic creatures. 

No, Stephen had opened the door with a gatepath to the Nepal Sanctum and been greeted by a man with half-shaken snow in his raven hair and clothing which resembled less-prestigious Kamar Taj robes, who had clearly been standing in the cold too long if his reddened facial extremities and the tips of his fingers going blue were any indication. Not that it was surprising he’d be half-frozen— the man seemed to only have one layer on and it was firmly the start of  _ winter _ .

Green eyes met his in an unwavering gaze, stubbornness set into every feature the man had. In fact, Stephen was shocked at the sheer defiance the man seemed to hold in that gaze that it took an effort not to shut the door in the guy's face out of spite. 

"Who are yo—" Stephen started, only for the man to hold up a hand, silencing him with the simple gesture.

"My name is Loki. I have come here to... offer assistance in training young wizards in magic," the man— Loki— stated calmly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"...Did you just call me a  _ wizard? _ " Stephen asked, offended. His mind thought of all the Harry Potter books he'd read when he was younger and tried to imagine himself wearing a pointed hat and waving a wand around. Somehow, he didn't manage it.

Loki frowned at him like he was an idiot. "I believe I called your students wizards but I do suppose you go into the mix of it yourself, so yes.”

Stephen stared at the stranger in shock.  _ The audacity,  _ he thought, unable to come up with a suited reply.

“Actually, now that I think on it, as the clear head here, you in particular would fall into warlock territory on occasion I believe…”

An image of a man with an obscene glitter obsession flashed through Strange’s mind and he banished it to speak. “What makes you think we’re hiring, or that you would even be eligible?”

“Well…” the man gave a lop-sided smile through his subtle impatience and Strange found it an oddly suited expression on him, “I have a few  _ centuries _ or so of learning in most magical fields…”

Stephen roved his eyes over the stranger standing ankle-deep in snow.  _ Centuries? _ Not the strangest thing he’d ever heard, and he  _ had  _ to hear this man out now. It couldn't hurt, right?

“Please, come in,” Stephen said, opening the door wider, inviting Loki in. 

Loki took his snowy shoes off at the door and continued barefoot and Stephen tried not to let that ruffle him. He closed the gateway door to the Nepal Sanctum and followed the man into the living room, knowing that if he were a demonic creature with ill-intent his true form would’ve been revealed as he passed under the doorframe. But he still remained a man, raven haired, pale skin and covered in snow, so at least he wasn’t dealing with some cursed creature of the Nether Shrines, although for a few centuries old the man was looking pretty good.

“The host rules of the Sanctum deny me the right to throw you back out while you are in your current disposition, so,” Stephen said, clapping his hands and taking a seat, clearly intending to continue speaking, but before he could, he is cut off by the rude homeless man who seemed to be thinking himself better than Stephen, if his attitude is anything to go by.

“I would like to thank  _ you _ first for offering me this position as your vice…” the man waved an arm dismissively at the air in an attempt to show his point, “vice whatever. I’ll do my best not to let my over-qualifications shine too brightly.”

And if that didn't sound stuck up, Stephen didn't know what did. 

The prat wasn’t even smiling anymore, which was a shame because he looked oddly... vulnerable? Of course he was! He’d been standing in the snow for who-knows-how-long! The glistening skin around the eyes which were either melted snow lines or tears was probably contributing. Not that it made any difference.

“I said we don’t refuse sanction and a place to stay when people need it on principle and that you  _ may  _ have a chance to prove yourself if I deem it so;  _ Not  _ that I’m offering you the position to teach.”

“You’ll come around,” Loki said, lifting his legs to cross them where he was sitting, smiling pleasantly at Stephen once again, but the sorcerer still saw the arrogance in those green eyes.

And Strange narrowed his own eyes because he’s  _ really  _ tempted to throw Loki out for his pretentious attitude alone. 

Instead, he took a deep breath and reminded himself of how understaffed they are. Their only senior members included himself and Wong and that left himself running lessons for mystic arts trainees from three sanctums while Wong managed the living components of their stays. They  _ could  _ actually use another person with experience in magic, or teaching, but preferably both. 

“Tell me about what kind of experience you have.”

“Well, until very recently, I was under the impression of being a near-immortal  Áss , hence having access to Asgard’s public (and not-so-public) libraries, in which I spent a majority of my youth seeking sanction from my dumbass not-brother who has simply loved throwing himself into dangerous scenarios since the tender age of a century or so, so I’ve got more than any existing sorcerer theory in the Golden Realm down, along with  _ plenty  _ of practical experience.”

Loki smiled, smugly pleased with his explanation, and Strange just stared blankly at him. 

“So you’re a human, who is an ass, from Ass… gard… and claim you know enough magic to teach.”

Loki nodded. “I’m a human now, who was an  Áss before, and, yes, from the realm of Asgard.”

_ 'Like you’re not still an ass,'  _ passed through Stephen’s mind but he didn’t have the mind for an argument right now and refrained from saying it. The man hadn’t really done anything particularly bad, so he wasn’t sure why he felt so agitated by his presence. 

Other than the entire story sounding super fake. 

Then again, the Sanctum wasn’t meant to be running on one teacher, and the only part that mattered was any potential skill in the arts… 

“We don’t deal with  _ realms  _ here, mainly  _ dimensions _ ,” Stephen explained, “But I’ll be giving lessons on shielding techniques tomorrow and you can attend.”

“And that way you’ll have a partner to demonstrate the shielding spells with, brilliant!” Loki exclaimed, standing up from his seat. “Now, do you have a room I could use? I would like a bed and some time alone to sob into a pillow.” 

Stephen rolled his eyes at the joke (or, at least, he  _ thinks _ it's a joke? It’s probably a joke, right?), but rose anyway and led the way to the Trainer Hall (better keep him away from trainee cabins for now).

“Why human now? Why not stay ‘near-immortal’ on Asgard?”    
  
“I was banished for pant crimes.”

Stephen blinked and did his best not to turn and stare at Loki’s pants. They had looked fine to him moments ago, what was wrong with them? And so wrong that he would be sent away from a realm for it? 

“You…  _ what?! _ ”

“Relax, I was kidding,” Loki smiled sharply, “It was attempted genocide.”

Stephen continued leading the way but he narrowed his eyes once again. Genocide? This guy? Sure he walked and talked like some big-shot but he didn’t really seem the type… not that there was a  _ type  _ for that kind of thing, he’d just got a lean build and didn’t speak like he’s an idiot. 

“Well,” Loki rambled, “I wasn’t banished for the lives taken, per se… not that I didn't… it was more because the King has anger issues and didn’t like me anyway and I disobeyed what he had wanted but never verbalized but also what he would support if others did so I was technically turned human and exiled for… uhh… not being good enough for daddy dearest? No, that doesn’t sound cool. Panicking? Disobedience? General ineptitude? An inability to kill myself? Take your pick.”

That’s… a lot to unpack, and Stephen wasn’t sure how much of it could be in humour and how much was serious, so he’s just going to throw the entire suitcase away and not comment.

“This room can be yours,” —Stephen gestured to the door directly across— “that’s mine if you need anything,” —he pointed to the one next to his own— “that one belongs to Wong, the caretaker of the Sanctum Institutes. If you see him around make sure you explain that I granted you permission to be here or else he  _ will  _ assume you’re a Humanoia demon and  _ attack you _ . Which I'm sure would be unpleasant on both parts.”

Loki scoffed, but nodded his head. “Thank you," he said, but there was a bite to his tone as if he had to force the words out as he went to open the door to his room.

“Stephen Strange, by the way,” he said as the man turned the doorknob. 

Loki didn’t stop to acknowledge the name and closed the door softly behind him. Stephen muttered to himself about the contemptuous attitude of supposedly-once-immortal magicians and made his way back to the very particular door he’d been warding so that no one would ever be able to breach its contents. 

When that was done with he made himself some tea— jasmine with a pinch of added cardamom— and considered offering some to the guest. He worried at his lip, wondering if Loki even liked tea. What if he didn't? 

Stephen mentally slapped himself. Why the hell was he worrying over this so much? It's just tea. Besides, the man may have masked it well but he’d surely been half frozen to death if he’d been wandering around Kathmandu like that. And he’d made an oath when he entered the medical field. 

He ended up making Loki a cup anyway. Better safe than sorry, he thought. This is what a good host would do at any rate as he hadn't offered Loki a beverage when he'd first arrived and no doubt the ex-god would be thirsty… and hungry, for that matter. He hadn’t specified how long he’d been walking in the snow, but it must’ve been at least half an hour. 

With that thought in mind, he took out the leftover sushi in the fridge and decided to give it to Loki also. It would serve well as a sort of peace offering. At least, he  _ hoped  _ it would stop Loki biting his head off if he didn’t enjoy the tea. 

Do people from his ‘realm’ even eat sushi? He hoped the man wasn't a vegan. This kind of information is needed if they must at least attempt to get along. And despite his irritation, Stephen does honestly hope they can get along. His day schedule is usually filled with covering the duties the Ancient One left him, and apart from the students his only company was Wong. 

He… is not  _ ashamed  _ to admit that the list of those he’d consider his friends is limited, but even Christine set strict boundaries and it’s the rarest thing for the both of them to have free time which aligns at a decent enough time to go out for coffee or for a meal.

He reached Loki’s room, knocking firmly on the door. There was a moment of silence where Stephen wondered if maybe Loki was asleep (it was already rather late when the man had arrived now that he thought of it) but the next moment the door opened to reveal Loki looking quite annoyed at being interrupted in… whatever it was he'd been doing. Stephen decided it was better not to ask. He also noted a change of clothes that looked enough like Sanctum robes but were a shade of green he’s most certain they don’t come in, and decided it was better not to ask about those either. The other clothes hadn’t looked very warm anyway. And then there were questions about where the man had pulled a set of leather clothes from that Strange filed away for a later time too. _ Fancy upper-sleeves,  _ he noted. 

"What do you want?" Loki asked, his voice sounding hoarser than it had a few hours ago, but that was probably because he’s tired. 

The man  _ had  _ been joking about crying into a pillow, hadn’t he?

"Tea?" Stephen asked, raising the cup, "And something to eat. No doubt you're hungry. Wandering around in the freezing cold can do that to you."

Loki rolled his eyes, but took both items Stephen handed to him. "Sushi. Not bad. Tea, however? I believe I'm more of a coffee person." Loki took a sip of the tea and made a face of disgust. 

"Definitely more of a coffee person."

Stephen tried to both not be offended and not to let out an exasperated sigh.  _ Of course he didn't like tea. He just had to make things difficult. _ "It's too late for coffee; If you're going to work with me tomorrow, you need rest."

Loki raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes,  _ Mother _ ," he stated, turning and shutting the door in Stephen's face.

Stephen blinked, staring at the hard wood before silently seething. Damn that stuck up supposed once-god!

He turned on his heel, marching away, ignoring Loki’s indignant _ 'ugh, is that cardamom?!' _ through the door. That just meant he’s drinking it. Stephen tried not to smile too smugly at that, or hope the man suffered with every sip of the cardamom-y goodness. 

Stephen walked along the entrances and exits and checked the wards on all the sanctum gatepath doors before heading to his room. 

Despite the earlier  _ interruption  _ he still had enough time for a few hours of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment as the authors feed on those in a very literal sense <3


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